But who would she go out with? What kind of life would she have with a troublesome teenager and no husband? Janice took the note from Denise and read it. Her bad day suddenly got worse.

David's school is on the phone, was what the note said.

"I'll take it." Janice folded the piece of paper and was out of her chair without a beat. What was it, ten in the morning? She checked her watch. Uh-uh, not even. It was nine-forty-eight, way too early for something like a broken bone in sports. Second period was Contemporary American History. No, David hadn't gotten hurt in some accident. The school hadn't burned down. She knew what this was about.

She changed gears in an instant. See what a wonderful mother she was. She was at work in an important meeting, she had a life of her own; she was good at her job. Did she hesitate when the boy's school was on the line? Here they were in the middle of a merger, she had important things to do. She could not afford to jeopardize her career, but, as always, her son came first. That was more than Bill could say. The school never called him.

Janice sailed down the hall to her office and took the call on her own line. "Yes, Janice Owen," she said sweetly.

"Oh hi, Mrs. Owen. This is Margery Redich at Prep. I'm just calling about David. He didn't come in yesterday or this morning. I didn't get a call back from you yesterday when David didn't come in, either." Her perky voice suddenly took on a slight accusatory tone.

The rage caught Janice right in the throat. Both days she'd driven David to school herself. They'd had nice conversations. This morning she'd left him right in front of the door. Her chest constricted with the betrayal of both the men in her life. After the way she'd stuck her neck out for David, she should bust him now, let him get expelled. He should be punished for this. But it never occurred to her to let such a thing happen.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she gushed. "I know I should have called. We're in the middle of a merger here, and I'm a little distracted. David is really sick. He has the flu. Must be a stomach virus or something. He'll be in tomorrow for sure. He's at the doctor now."

"Okay, just checking. Have a good day, Mrs. Owen."

"Thank you so much for calling. My mistake for not letting you know sooner."

Janice hung up and dialed her husband.

"Mr. Owen's office, may I help you?" The precise voice of Bill's male secretary came on the line.

"You certainly may, Greg. Is he there?"

"Oh, Mrs. Owen. He's on the phone right now. Shall I have him call you when he gets off?"

"No, I need to talk to my husband now. It's an emergency," she said coldly.

"He's on long distance."

"It's still an emergency, Greg."

"Okay, I'll try."

Janice looked at her watch. She'd been gone a minute and a half. They wouldn't miss her for another two. Bill came on the line a full minute later.

"What is it, Janice?"

"David is playing hooky again. Fat lot of good you did in your little talk with him this morning."

"Is this what you're calling me for?"

"The school just called. This is serious."

"I thought you took him there yourself. It's not my fault if he doesn't stay."

"Whose fault do you think it is, mine?" Janice was appalled at this outrageous suggestion.

"I certainly can't be responsible if you get him all upset in the car." Bill's tone was not nice at all.

"I don't get him upset," Janice protested.

"Look, I have to go to court in five minutes."

"Bill, I want you to come home early tonight. We'll have dinner together and talk. This is very serious. They're going to kick him out if he doesn't knuckle under."

"It's not knuckle under. It's settle down."

"Whatever! Bill! We have to do something."

"Fine. Just get him on the phone and tell him to go to school now."

"Ah, I can't."

"Why not, Janice?" Bill was impatient now.

"I told the school he had the flu."

"Well, tell David to have a miraculous recovery."

"Okay, I'll tell him," she said meekly. "Are you coming home tonight?"

"Of course I'm coming home. Where else would I go?" He hung up without saying good-bye.

Forty-five

At twelve-thirty Igor Stanislovski, one of the criminalists from CSU, was just finishing his last sketch of the crime scene. The remains of Pee Wee James were bagged and ready to start their journey across town to the Medical Examiner's office for autopsy. More than two dozen uniforms from three precincts were keeping away the curious as April consulted with Charles Ding, a new investigator in the Medical Examiner's office.

Charles was a hail-fellow-well-met type with a wandering eye and distracting tic that got worse when he was nervous. He must have been pretty nervous right then because the whole time his head was bent to examine Pee Wee, his right eye winked steadily at April, giving him the appearance of a lecherous schoolboy. In fact, he was a serious guy.

"Typical drunk. Lots of scars, sores. Eczema on his hands and arms. Poor circulation in his legs. Look at those ankles. I wouldn't be surprised if he had gangrene in that foot. We'll know later, not that it matters. I'm not removing his shoes now. Bottom line, I'd say someone hit him on the side of the head, then attempted to bury him. Maybe he was interrupted. Looks like a pretty disorganized killer," Charles said.

"Probably the half-assed work of another drunk. He certainly appears to have died right here." Igor threw his own two cents in. "You notice there's not much disturbance in the ground. Who knows, maybe it was an accident."

Igor had some kind of Balkan accent, and a limp that was the result of a hollow-point bullet he'd taken in the calf several years back while attempting to stop a bank robbery one day when he went to deposit his paycheck. By now he'd finished bagging the potato chip bag, the Styrofoam cup, the shoe, three buttons, part of a sock, a crushed Coke can, an Alcoholics Anonymous key chain with its "God-grant-me-the-courage" credo deeply encrusted with dirt, and several gallons of earth, grass, and leaf samples. The ground had been tromped by the hordes. There were no clear shoe imprints from which to make plaster casts.

Igor was five-four, had the bluest eyes and the biggest head April had ever seen. These days he was wearing his thick blond hair in a ponytail. Of all the Crime Scene people, April thought Igor was the best. She respected his opinions, but he didn't know anything about Maslow's mystery patient. Pee Wee's murder could also be the work of a small female who couldn't possibly bury a body.

Ding's eye wandered over and winked at Igor. "We'll know more when we open him up." He removed his rubber gloves, bagged them, replaced them with a fresh pair, then trotted off to examine the soft tissue samples Peachy had found. "Bye now," were his parting words.

Igor frowned and circled the air with his finger. April shook her head at him. Don't make fun.

"Good to meet you, Charlie. Thanks," April called after him.

"De nada," the Chinese replied.

Spanish! April snorted and turned to Igor. Pee Wee was dead and it was all her fault. A Chinese saying fit his life well: "Loss upon loss until at last comes rest."

Last night she'd trusted Mike and followed the credo "By letting go, it all gets done." Her reward was Pee

Wee's eternal rest. Now she felt beaten by the mischief of unknown devils.

"I help out, don't I?" Pee Wee had said only yesterday.

Not enough, Pee Wee, not enough.

"Make your eyes bright enough from evil to lead you away" was another saying among the thousands April had learned. None of them fit in America 2000. In the thousand department the worst was "A thousand years is not enough to honor a parent."